


The Signal

by ssclassof56



Series: Agent Pemberley [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssclassof56/pseuds/ssclassof56
Summary: Napoleon regrets daydreaming during a recent briefing.





	The Signal

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal's Section7MFU - Short Affair Challenge  
> Prompts: sock / red

“Did Faustina say which building it was?”  
  
“She said there would be a signal.”  
  
Napoleon drove the Charger slowly down the deserted street. Beside him, Illya changed clips in his Special.  
  
“What kind of signal?” Napoleon asked.  
  
“An unmistakable one,” Illya replied. “We’ll know it when we see it.”  
  
Napoleon leaned forward over the wheel and squinted up at the darkened, run-down buildings. He was a trained observer, but nothing significant caught his eye. Certainly none of the usual U.N.C.L.E. signals.  
  
“There,” Illya exclaimed. “Stop the car.”  
  
Immediately Napoleon pulled the Charger to the curb. “She’s in there?” he asked.  
  
“Obviously. Didn’t you see it?” He gestured out the car window.  
  
Napoleon peered past Illya into an alley, quickly noting its layout. Trash cans. Fire escapes. Laundry lines strung between the buildings. All meaningless. Somewhere above them a neon signed blinked, but there was no message he could detect in the intermittent flashes. He raised his eyebrows at Illya. “Where?”  
  
Illya frowned in exasperation and exited the car. Napoleon followed him onto the sidewalk.  
  
“There.” He pointed to a spot in the center of the alley, two stories up.  
  
On a clothesline hung a single red sock, pulsing softly with the neon’s glow.  
  
Napoleon looked at Illya incredulously. “The sock. Really?”  
  
Illya nodded. “Really. She said it was unmistakable.”  
  
Napoleon stared at the sock. Had he missed a memo? A briefing? He scrunched his face in frustrated confusion. He had been rather distracted during the last meeting with Thompson from Codes and Ciphers. “Yes, the sock, of course. Unmistakable,” he agreed, hoping he had sounded convincing.  
  
From the look Illya slanted him, he hadn’t.  
  
To their left, Napoleon sensed a curtain shift infinitesimally. Thankful he was not completely off his game, he stepped farther away from the pool of streetlight. “Come on.” Specials in hand, the two agents silently climbed the steps and entered the front doors.  
  
Ten minutes later the same doors burst open violently. Napoleon and Illya staggered out onto the front stoop, a women strong-armed between them. She kicked and flailed, screeching in a foreign language, her sentiments needing no translation. Her harsh voice echoed in the narrow street, and around them windows began to light up.  
  
“You might as well stop fighting,” Napoleon said between clenched teeth, as her heel caught him painfully in the shin. “You’re coming with us.”  
  
They began to descend the steps with their furious burden. With an abruptness that caught them off guard, the women’s body went completely limp. The agents staggered as the unexpected dead weight dragged them down. With a growl of triumph, she used the opportunity to pull free, plummeting down the steps and into the street.  
  
“Stop or we’ll shoot,” Illya warned sharply. She paused only a moment, then broke into a run. Illya fired a single shot. The women reeled and fell forward on the pavement.  
  
Napoleon approached the body. Kneeling beside it, he felt for a pulse, then shook his head.  
  
“Let's get out of here,” Illya advised, as he holstered his Special.  
  
The agents carried the body to the car, depositing it in the passenger seat. The few lights in the surrounding windows began to flicker out. “Charming neighborhood,” Illya said as he climbed into the back behind Napoleon. With a squeal of the tires, they were away.  
  
For several miles, they were silent. The body beside Napoleon slouched against the window and shifted slightly whenever they cornered. As they approached headquarters, Illya draped his arm across the top of the passenger seat and leaned in. “Did you get it?” he asked.  
  
“Of course, I got it.” Faustina sat up straight and swept the hair from her face. Fishing into her cleavage, she extracted a small capsule and handed it to Illya. He examined it as best he could in the passing streetlight. “Who would believe something so small could be so lethal?” he mused.  
  
“I could. And I’m thankful that it will no longer be carried so close to my heart.”  
  
Illya took a steel container from his jacket and closed the capsule carefully inside. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Reasonably so. You were 5 minutes late, you know.”  
  
“Blame Napoleon. He missed the signal.”  
  
Faustina shifted in her seat and looked from one agent to the other.  
  
“You missed the signal?”  
  
Napoleon frowned. “I wouldn’t say missed.”  
  
Illya leaned back, his dry tones reaching out from the darkened backseat. “One either sees a red sock or one does not.”  
  
Faustina shook her head. “I knew you weren’t paying attention in that meeting.”  
  
Napoleon coughed slightly and retreated into a dignified silence.  
  
Illya and Faustina got out in front of Del Floria’s, leaving Napoleon to return the Charger to the motor pool. The storefront was dark, but Illya heard the lock disengage. He opened the door, allowing Faustina in first.  
  
She turned to face him. In the dim light, he could see her lips twitch. “You didn’t tell him I’d told you the address, did you?”  
  
“I did not,” he admitted.  
  
“Illya!” she exclaimed in mock disapproval.  
  
“I’ve been writing far too many of our reports myself lately.”  
  
The look in his eyes defied her to chastise him. His lips slowly stretched into a smile. Faustina leaned back against the counter and shook with silent laughter.  
  
“A red sock?” She shook her head. “And when he reads the real story in the report?”  
  
Illya shrugged. “He usually just signs it. He trusts me.”  
  
Basking in the shared joke, they crossed to the changing room. As Illya pulled the curtain aside, Faustina grasped his other arm. “What if he tries to use that as a signal himself someday?”  
  
Illya thought for a moment. “We could rest in the hope that you or I would be the one he was signaling,” he suggested.  
  
Faustina grimaced as he pulled the coat hook.  
  
Illya sighed. “I suppose I’ll need to pay an early visit to Codes and Ciphers.”  
  
“I’ll join you. Thompson owes me a favor.” The wall swung open, and they blinked at the harsh light. “Still think it was worth it?” she asked.  
  
Illya allowed himself another small smile. “Most definitely.”


End file.
